Chapter 13
Jabari
“Mr. Hall, I’m going to be frank with you.”
I squirm at the no-nonsense tone in my occupational therapist’s voice. “Okay.”
“You should’ve been in here a couple of weeks after your injury.”
“Does that mean you can’t help me?” I wince. Was she finished talking? “Sorry, didn’t mean to cut you off.”
“No, I understand. And it’s not that I can’t help you, it’s that building new neuropathways is vital to improvement.
Unfortunately, your brain has had from mid-January to now.
” She pauses as if counting how many weeks it’s been.
“Seven weeks of living injured without being guided on how to recover from that.”
Why is timing always my issue? Instead of bemoaning my fate—because really, it’s not her fault—I nod in understanding.
“Nevertheless, we’ll get you through this. I’ll show you the exercises I want you to do at home on your own. Then if you’re doing okay, we’ll go through the regimen you’ll complete each time you see me. After that, I’d like to schedule an in-home visit.”
“An in-home visit? What for?” Does she really need to come to my place? Somehow the suggestion feels like an invasion of privacy.
“I can bring things that make your setup easier for you to navigate since you live on your own.”
Okay, maybe that’s not so bad.
“How does that all sound?”
“Fine.”
“Great. Let’s get started.” She swipes something from the table. “Can you see this pencil?”
“Um. I see something brown.”
“Okay. As best as possible, without moving your head, track the movement with just your eyes.”
Why are my palms sweating? Oh, right, because I can’t see the pencil like I would’ve before. But I try my best to do as she asks, trying to keep my frustration level down. Yet when my gaze jerks back and forth, I let out a groan.
“It’s okay, Mr. Hall.”
“Please call me Jabari.”
“Jabari, I promise, it’s difficult for everyone who walks into my office. That is why you’re here after all.”
Yeah, that thought doesn’t make me warm and fuzzy inside like she thinks it does.
We do the activity a few more times before she changes it up. This time, she holds two pencils but puts them in my peripheral vision. Automatically my heart rate slows down, and my mind relaxes. This I can do. Both pencils are easy to see, but I’m sure Ms. McMillan won’t make it easy for me.
“Okay, for this one, I’m going to move one of the pencils closer or farther away. You tell me which one moved and in which direction. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I watch the movement. “Left, closer.”
“Perfect.”
“Right, farther.”
“You got this.”
I continue calling out my answers until she places the writing utensils down.
“Headache?” she asks.
“A bit.” I rub my temples, hoping to ease the ache that’s beginning to pulse.
“That’s good. It means we’re exercising the brain. However, now that a headache is starting, I don’t want to tax you any further. Too much too soon can have adverse effects. You don’t have anything difficult to do the rest of the day, do you?”
If she didn’t count wondering about who Val’s blind date is and the ways I can innocently show up and interrupt, then no. Of course, I don’t know where they’re meeting, so I may have to wheedle that information out of my new friend first.
Why do you want to interrupt her? Don’t you want her to be happy?
Val’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. She deserves happiness. I just don’t think a setup from her little sister is the right answer.
“Mr. Hall? I mean, Jabari?”
Oops. The rabbit trail snagged me. “Sorry. Nothing too difficult.”
“Got it. Let’s schedule some more in-person visits and a time when I can come out to your place.”
I frown. Mom’s arriving this afternoon. Do I want her here for that or . . .
“Ms. McMillan?”
“Yes?”
“Is there any time in your schedule this morning to come over? My mom flies in this afternoon, and I’d like to be done with the house visit if possible.”
“Hmm. Let me check.”
The keyboard clicks and clacks as she types. “Actually, my noon appointment just canceled. You’re in McLean, right?”
“Yes.”
“I think I can make that work. See you in a bit?”
I nod.
By the time we’re done, I’m more than ready for a nap. The thought of her coming over soon keeps me from falling onto my couch when I enter my condo. Instead, I go to clean the dishes left in the kitchen sink.
Being single and having someone make my meals means I rarely use the dishwasher.
Yet right now I wish for the ease and familiarity of letting a machine do all the work.
Since reading the buttons is a feat I don’t want to attempt right now, I squeeze some dish soap onto a sponge, hoping the amount is enough to cause suds.
I scrub until I think the plate is clean, then use my hands to search for any residue before rinsing and repeating the same actions.
When there are no more dishes left, I dry my hands just as the doorbell rings. I navigate to the entry and open the door.
“Long time no see, Jabari.”
I crack a smile. “Hey, come on in.”
“Thank you. Do I need to take off my shoes?” Ms. McMillan asks.
“No.” Though I always do, I’m not going to make her do the same thing. Hopefully she’s not here long enough to get that comfortable.
“Okay. Why don’t you give me a tour? I want to see how you navigate in your home, see what furniture changes you may need, and anything else I can do to help.”
Should I tell her I already have the faded bumps and bruises to know where all the furniture is now? Keeping silent, I take her around the place and point to anything I believe is pertinent. Once we end up in my bedroom, I pause, waiting for further instructions.
“Well, it’s obvious that you’ve acquainted yourself with where everything is these past seven weeks. That’s impressive.”
“What choice did I have?” The words fall from me before I can stop them.
“You’d be surprised how many people would still be laying in their beds, not trying to live.”
My face heats. I hate that for them because I completely understand. Memories of my mom in that same position flicker through my mind. If it weren’t for the hope of getting back on the team, I might have ended up exactly like her. A jolt of awareness hits me.
“Let’s check out your bathroom.” Her footsteps click on the wood floors and the tone changes as her heeled feet meet tiled floors.
“Okay, so how do you tell the difference between the shampoo and conditioner?”
“One’s on the left, and the other is on the right. It was that way before.”
“Does that work for you? Because if not, I can put a raised dot on one, so you know just by feel which is which.”
That idea actually makes a lot of sense. “Let’s go with that.”
She goes through my whole house placing dots where she thinks I need them. One on each stovetop turn range, so I’ll always know where medium-heat is. Another on the number one on the microwave.
“Wow, your fridge is actually immaculate and well organized.”
“I have someone who cooks my meals.”
“Hockey player, makes sense.”
Not a hockey player for long. I still can’t believe I’ll be retiring soon, but that’s not something I need to dwell on right now.
Ms. McMillan goes over a few more things, leaving me with a plan of some items to purchase to help me out even more.
“You’ll get through this, Jabari. I’ll help in every way I can.”
When she leaves, my house is immediately plunged back into its usual silence.
Before my injury, silence didn’t really bother me.
Well, maybe it did, but there was always something to do to help me ignore the solitude.
Now that Val’s been in my life, talking to her on a daily basis has pushed the loneliness aside.
Except my friend is going on a date while I’ll be stuck in the house.
Will Fran do her makeup? Will Val wear a dress that makes her look like a ten?
And what exactly does Val look like now?
I have vague recollections of teenage Val, but I’m sure her look has matured.
Other than her long hair and a general idea of her skin tone, I just can’t piece the details together. “She’s a full-on Monet.”
Can’t believe I know a quote from Clueless, but I blame Raimo.
He likes to watch obscure American movies, claiming it helps with slang.
Despite my protests that Americans don’t all sound like the actors in that movie, it made his list. I’ll go to the grave before I tell him it’s actually pretty hilarious.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I start a voice text. “Hey, I hope you have a good time tonight. And here’s hoping you don’t get set up with Fran’s ex this time.”
I hit send before I can change my mind and delete the message. Hopefully, Val will find my attempt at a joke humorous and not the desperation that is my need to talk to her.
My phone begins speaking. “Incoming audio message from Val Elliott. Shall I play it?”
“Yes.”
“Ha! That’s exactly what I told Fran.”
My lips curve into a grin.
“I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.”
I’m not sure why her pronouncement makes me so happy, but the smile on my face doesn’t fade until well into the night.